


Needs

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen Castiel, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Homeless Castiel, M/M, Masturbation, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, Rimming, Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling has left Castiel with all kinds of needs he doesn't know how to fulfill. None of them seem to come as naturally as the need to be close, and there is none he fights more stubbornly to overcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zombieheroine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombieheroine/gifts).



> Given that I may likely have to cope with a sexual Castiel in very little time - thanks, S9 - I did what I do best; write therapy fiction. In this case, I had to inject my headcanon of this guy with a good full dosage of antiasexuality, you know, just to wrap my head around the basics.
> 
> I don't know yet if the purpose was served, but hell, it's 16 pages of sex. Who doesn't want that?

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Winter was approaching. Its fingers slid past the gold of the autumn's glow and murdered the warmth from even the sun's light. Cold didn't surprise Castiel: it was a fact of life, part of creation. Feeling cold didn't surprise him either, it was a sensation necessary for survival, a discomfort prompting an animal to find a more suitable environment.

What surprised him was how hard it bit and just how deep the ache echoed. The nipping was nothing; it was the dull pain that followed, the full-body sensation that resembled torture performed by invisible yet very talented hands. No matter where he went, it followed – there simply wasn't a place for him to stay where the dropping temperature would have no effect on him.  
  
Tonight, the shelter was full. He stood outside shifting weight from foot to foot for a long while, just a face in the crowd. The only places he did not stand out from the rest was where mental disorders were more of a rule than the exception from them, and his crazy was just one shade of the spectrum, harmless if a little uncomfortable for the sane around him.  
It was both saddening and redeeming: he was given a mask to hide behind, but he longed to be amongst those who took his story seriously. None here did, so he turned away.  
For the night, he'd have to find another place to sleep in.

The streets after sunset were scary. In itself, darkness was scary. All the millenias Castiel had lived through had not prepared him for human instinct and here he was now, eyes watering as he walked through yet another shady alley, a large lump stuck in his throat and feet carrying him faster and faster to the point where a voice from the back of his mind told him to keep a lower profile, to not stick out so obviously. Yet another form of survival; the prey had to look out for danger and avoid showing weakness or standing out of the crowd. He was already vulnerable to attack as a solitary pedestrian, not to mention the price on his head. He had all the reasons to fear but the acuteness made little logical sense.

 _Keep it together_.

He'd long since stopped questioning why the sense in him spoke with Dean's voice.

*

The abandoned house was probably falling apart even at that very moment Castiel settled indoors. It was barred from every direction, of course, but as a soldier, he knew how to break into buildings when it was necessary to do so. And tonight, well, tonight was the very definition of necessity.

He left behind the full moon and the clouds and the stars accompanying it, but the sense of dread didn't shed from him. In fact, it got worse; the house around him creaked and smelled of mold and dust and each and every room, each and every corner and shadow was a potential death trap.

It could have even housed a vengeful spirit but he'd take his chances against that, it was less likely than it was for him to freeze to death outside. As a downside, if the place would end up being haunted, he wouldn't have the means to defend himself. With that in mind, he carefully placed the door back so that it at least held the illusion of still being barred close; that was the best and the only protection he could offer himself from outside forces.

To calm himself down he searched the house, finding it as abandoned and empty as he'd hoped, but just in case someone would decide to follow his footsteps there, he settled in the small upstairs room that still had some furniture in it, namely a creaky chair and a broken drawer that he moved so that he could have a private corner by the boarded-up window.

There he sat down and pulled his hoodie tighter around his body: his hand pushed absently yet heavily inside the small plastic bag he'd carried there with his groceries inside, pulling out the object that wasn't an apple and therefore had to be the bottle, and drank from it.

The water was cool. He wished it wouldn't have been, and he wished he'd had the money to buy that small pillow too or anything warm and soft in addition to what he wore, but he had nothing on him.

After relaxing for a moment and deciding the floor was still much too cold and hard for him to sleep on, he stood up and checked the drawer just in case there was anything inside it. Of course it was empty, but the house might still have had something else, so he left the room and walked around peering into any and all closets and drawers and cupboards that were still functioning. From the kitchen he found a dirty rag that had probably been a towel once, but that was it. With the towel in hand he wandered back upstairs and returned to the corner he'd prepared for himself. He sat against the wall with his arms wound around his knees and breathed in the dusty air, fingers twisting the towel between them. Through the planks nailed to the window he could see a slice of the sky above and the moon was still shining bright.

A moment passed before he folded the towel over into a small, soft square that resembled a pillow like a carpet resembled a bed: when he willed them to, they sort of did.

Listening to the wind passing through the roof tiles he tried to fall asleep, but sleep was a thing that didn't come naturally to him at all. It hadn't scared him before. Looking back he didn't understand how he'd fallen asleep so easily the previous times he'd needed it as now it was the worst moment of his day, the one that he feared from the very moment he woke up. If he felt insecure and fearful awake and moving, it still was nothing in comparison to how he felt when he closed his eyes and tried to will his body out of consciousness, dropping all of his guard and staying in a completely vulnerable state for hours on end. Rest wasn't a relief for his mind, either, as it was filled with nightmares and memories and visions, with lingering voices and sudden loud sounds or figures launching at him that woke him up when he'd barely slept at all. Every time he woke up to a nightmare he had to start it all over again in an even more agitated state of mind.

As a result, sleep debt followed him as a growing burden every day and there was nothing he could do to shake it off.

Cold didn't make it any better.

More than anything he wished he'd have a working cellphone, something to connect him with Dean, the only person he felt he could trust now, but he didn't and Dean was somewhere so far away it felt absurd to realise in the small form Castiel now inhabited permanently.

Thinking about Dean was an ache worse than that which resulted from the cold; it was acute and even now, with that little effort, caused a piercing stablike pain in the middle of Castiel's chest. Instinctively he raised his hand up to the area and pressed at it, brows creasing in discomfort as he swallowed another lump climbing up his throat.

  
And that wasn't all it did. Once he went there, it escalated, the thought of the man became something akin to a river that he couldn't rein back in. It was like that now, too; in the loud silence Castiel laid his head between his knees and tried to breathe the pain out.  
He didn't know how to deal with this anymore. It wasn't new to him, he'd felt these things about the other ever since the first time they'd come in contact in hell, but as an angel, they hadn't crashed into him all at once like he was a vessel too small to contain the whole of it. He'd been able to distance himself from the feeling and remain objective in spite of it, but now the pressure and the _craving_ he felt was something too strong for him to handle.

The fallen angel shivered at the feel of his body reacting to the flood, or perhaps it was just a part of that reaction itself, a flash of uncalled-for pleasure running through his spine to alert him to the need. Castiel wasn't sure if he should be ashamed of it, or if it was something he should just accept and cope with like so many other things that had become a part of him now.

His lips had parted to let out a small, inaudible breath of shock and something more and his lids pressed tighter together as if to keep him separate from reality.

_I need you._

Castiel had a hard time telling apart certain feelings: pleasure and pain were very close to one another, much like the feel of extreme cold and heat. Longing and love felt exactly the same, like a violent grip around his heart, and he wasn't certain if they weren't one and the same – the essence certainly remained equal in both.  
With a quiet, pained sound he curled up against the corner behind him and shivered again.  
  
There were things he wished for more than anything; things that he didn't let through as thoughts but that broke into his consciousness as images instead. Familiar hands pressing against the skin of his waist and taking a firm but gentle hold of him, fingers tracing down his hips and palm cupping...  
  
His eyes pressed shut more tightly and a small whimper crossed through his lips at the thought.  
  
Full, warm lips colliding with his to taste him, slipping off and leaving a cold trace of saliva upon his jaw, sliding down onto his neck and marking his skin there, teeth joining for a playful bite as the other brings his body against -  
  
The next shiver came with an audible moan. The fallen angel brought his hands over his face and hid behind them, trying to calm down, entirely overwhelmed by the feeling that now grew inside his skin and felt like it was driving him insane. It was the strongest sensation that he had experienced so far – not even hunger or thirst came close to just how driving this need was, how it pushed everything else from his mind.  
  
The paradox of it was that somewhere deep inside, he didn't even want it to stop. He wanted to indulge in it and allow it to control him, just go with what he felt, but on the other hand, he was terrified of it even as it was, as it _already_ controlled him to an extent no feeling had ever controlled him. That was scary, it was like being possessed, like an alien force was taking a hold of him and he was losing the fight, giving up to it, and he had no idea what would happen if he'd allow that.  
Consciously he knew it wouldn't kill him, but he wasn't ready for it either. He wasn't ready because it made him even more vulnerable than he was, completely bare in a way he'd never experienced, and indulging would have further lowered his guard. There was no way he could allow that to happen. Was there?  
  
Another pained sound and he allowed his hand to slip down. Just one touch, one push against the front of his jeans. It wasn't giving up, it was fighting. It had to be. If he'd just... it had to go away, it _had_ to, it felt like it would go if he'd just... If he'd just...  
  
His breath caught up in his throat when his palm pressed against the erection. It felt like electricity had discharged from the point of contact right into his veins, but he did what he'd intended, just pushed it down and pressed his thighs to hold it there, as if pressure would eventually _have_ to take the ache away. Quite the contrary, he learned fast: his thighs were not discomfortable. The pressure felt amazing.  
  
The look he cast around was almost panicked, half like he was expecting to see someone staring. Embarrasment he was already familiar with, but it usually affected him in company. Now he was most certainly alone in the room yet the heat burned him all the same. Swallowing thickly he tensed the muscles of his thighs and felt the muscles in his abdomen twitching in turn to that contact.  
He couldn't breathe like normal anymore: his inhales and exhales were heavy and passed through his parted lips, nothing else would give him enough air. He cast a desperate look at the ceiling and then at the sky – the moon was now overcast by a ragged-looking cloud – and felt his willpower crumble further the more he tried to hold onto it.  
Who was he hurting?  
Himself, Dean – who didn't even know of this? What was the worst that could happen?  
  
Would it change something?  
He already _felt_ this. What was worse, to keep it inside and force it to bottle up or to release it and deal with the aftermath, the shame and the fear and the worst – relief and satisfaction?  
What was he losing? He'd already lost everything he was. This was just another aspect of his new self; something he was stuck with. He didn't _commit_ to anything if he'd deal with it. He was already bound to this experience as a being of flesh.  
  
With certain heaviness he closed his eyes, defeated.  
There was no purpose in hesitation. This was who he was now. Just like he couldn't will himself to not need nutrition, to not need water, he couldn't will himself out of the need for sexual release either. It was just another shade of mortality, one he was extremely familiar with and took for granted in literally every living creature that wasn't him.  
  
He had a hint of a bitter smile upon his lips when he thought about just how much his view of everything he'd thought he'd known had changed after he'd fallen and how much his understanding of certain aspects of himself had broadened, and not often for the best.  
The feel of cold air upon his body through the opened zipper and then the firm grasp of his own fingers along the length of his cock were things he was almost disappointed in because of how natural they felt. His breathing stabilized as if he'd just waited to give up the fight; his body relaxed, mind concentrating on the touch and conjuring up more vivid images and false memories or visions of what he was afraid to want so badly.  
He had never had much of an imagination before, or at least he'd never used it creatively. His mind had existed for a purpose and all he'd done had happened in line to that single goal: even when things had been complicated, he'd only used his mind for reason, not entertainment, and certainly not for imagining the impossible unless the very purpose was to make it possible.  
Yet now visions of what was never going to happen were his constant companions and even things that served no purpose at all occupied his mind sometimes, creating short falsehoods akin to stories from minor details as he experienced things. A flying leaf could prompt a short vision of where it was going, how it twirled in the wind when he was already ahead of it and not looking, and the vision could depict it just continuing its flight for a single more moment after it had disappeared from his view. It would serve no purpose whatsoever, but his mind would automatically create it, and most the time, he didn't even realise it was doing that. When he sat inside a café with the cup that was his expensive excuse to not have to stay outside in the cold, he was imagining situations and scenarios of anything at all: mostly he seemed to daydream of getting back to the Winchesters, creating and recreating the moment of reunion in a hundred different ways and smiling at the things that would be said that he knew would never, ever come to pass.  
  
What was the purpose?  
There was no purpose, yet he felt like these moments were the ones that kept him alive and fighting.  
  
Now he allowed this same process to flow free in him and it needed nothing to adjust to what he needed. He closed his eyes and could almost feel Dean there next to him – skin against skin as they kissed – and his scent was still strong in his memory. The amount of detail his imagination could gather up was stunning: he could feel the slippery skin against his, the need in the other's touches and the ghost of them lingering upon his skin, and the man's fast, heavy and irregular breathing against his neck. He could hear it every time it caught up in the other's chest and he could feel how Dean's body shook when he touched him. Just for this moment he was almost close enough to the man to not feel the hollowness inside.  
  
His grip grew tighter and the way he moved his hand altered to find the best means to cause those extremely pleasing trembles that pushed out small sounds from his throat almost against his will; he never dared them to get very loud but hearing them was so erotic he couldn't bring himself to stop, either.  
  
The climax was much like sleep in how it came over him. He pushed his head against the softness of the cloth trapped between him and the wall until he could feel the hard solid structure through it, and his hips for a moment felt like a flame was licking through his flesh. It burned very briefly and extremely satisfyingly through his whole body and left him with a weight that landed over him gently along with the sense of relief and fulness.  
  
Still panting, he opened his eyes to reassure himself that the room was still in fact empty, only to realise he had no idea what to clean himself up with. A disgruntled sound escaped him as he scolded himself for forgetting how messy the basics of biology were.

  
*

Dean's smile was definitely one of the most attractive things about him - not that he lacked those; his smile simply seemed to bring out the best in him. It lit up his eyes that all too often seemed weary and sad, and somehow it erased the age he'd gained too early from carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Castiel felt like the scene was a repetition of one he'd already lived: the man rose up from the car with that beautiful expression of relief and joy on him, started walking and reached him running, while the fallen angel did nothing but stood there, overcome with emotion and disbelief. This time, unlike the one before, he wrapped his arms around the younger's shape in turn and held him so tight it was as uncomfortable as Dean's grip around him, and they didn't let go for the longest while at all. Castiel felt as if he was completely lost in the younger's scent and warmth and he couldn't even consider letting go, and it seemed like Dean felt the same about his arms around him, because each time he held tighter, Dean did too.  
  
Back from the car, they could hear Sam chuckling awkwardly and patting the metal roof.  
”Okay, c'mon you two. You can hug more once we're back at the bunker.”  
  
With a quiet laugh Dean released the shorter and laid his hand over his shoulder instead, smiling so that he seemed brighter than the overcast white sky.  
”I'm so glad to see you, man.”  
  
Castiel didn't have words for him, just the smile that he felt was ridiculously wide but that he couldn't adjust to any other shape or size. He allowed Dean to lead him back to the car.  
”Shotgun or backseat?”  
  
”I'll take the backseat.”  
One lesson he'd learned.  
”Thanks.”  
  
Dean raised a brow at him.  
”'Thanks'?” he repeated, voice torn between amused and surprised.  
  
Castiel tilted his head and looked at him questioningly.  
”Yes?”  
  
Dean's brows climbed higher before he let out a disbelieving chuckle.  
”Wow, you've been down for a couple weeks and you're already shortening words.”  
  
It was Castiel's turn to raise a brow.  
”I believe this isn't the first time,” he muttered before sliding to the backseat and making himself comfortable there.  
  
”Sure as hell the first time I noticed.”  
  
Castiel couldn't quite believe he was there again. He'd never really taken note of the scent of the car before, but it was instantly familiar to him in a way that made him feel safe and relaxed. The best part was seeing the two brothers right there in front of him; Dean leaning over the seat's backrest to talk to him, Sam with his hands on the wheel. Considering the set-up and having witnessed Dean getting out of the car from the driver's side Castiel assumed he'd driven the good part of the day and now was Sam's turn. His stomach felt funny when he realised that he would be more useful to them if he'd learn to drive, too, which meant that he was likely to receive lessons on the subject quite soon.  
He had an equally funny smile on his face and for the first time since falling, he felt excited to be human.  
  
”You hungry?” Dean asked him.  
  
Castiel looked down embarrassedly, not certain why as hunger was the expected state of a person who'd barely survived on the streets. Then he nodded stiffly.  
  
”Good,” the younger chuckled, turning back to gaze at the road, ”because I'm starving and I already told Sam we're going back to the burger place a couple miles from here.”

  
*

  
Dean saw the hesitation in the fallen angel when they were checking the rooms. Castiel felt him watching carefully yet still shivered when the taller laid a hand on his shoulder again, gripping him gently.  
”You know, we can just make you a bed in my room for starters and think about your permanent housing later. It's okay with me, Cas, really. Just say if that's what you need.”  
  
The older nodded slowly, looking away.  
”It'd be... thank you, Dean.”  
  
”Yeah, no problem. Tired?”  
  
Castiel nodded again. They'd driven the whole day: 300 miles wasn't a small deal. Castiel had gotten far on his own but the brothers had come to pick him up from there after he'd left a message for the older that he couldn't get further unless he stayed for money first. Since they'd decided it was safest for him to _not_ be out there on his own and he truly did not have that many job opportunities available either, Dean had called him back on their chosen hour and told him they'd come and pick him up on the way back from a hunt.  
  
”Me too,” Dean chuckled, ”Come.”  
  
They wandered down the corridor again and Dean lead the way through the door to his room that he'd already proudly introduced to Castiel. It was a homely room, even with the guns on the wall as a constant reminder of just who Dean was – as a constant reminder of what was out there behind these thick, secure walls.  
  
”So, the place is angel proofed. Kinda funny that I need to tell you that, but yeah, it is. And demon-proofed, of course. Basically – it's safe. Where do you want to sleep? Right next to the door gets a little chilly but the floor on the other side is okay.”  
  
Castiel didn't bother looking. Instead, he looked at Dean and the way he talked, catching quick glances from his bright green eyes and the small smirks he added each time they had a contact that way, the mess of his hair and the crooked collar of his plain grey shirt.  
He had a crooked smile on his face, too, one he didn't account for.  
  
”Anywhere,” he replied warmly.  
”Anywhere here's good.”  
  
”Whoa, don't be so demanding.”  
Dean patted him on the back and grinned.  
”Let's get you a mattress from somewhere. Might need to rob a dead person's bed though, haven't seen spares that aren't covered in gross yet. We're kinda working on cleaning them but, you know, been busy.”  
  
They robbed a nearby room and laid the mattress on the side of Dean's bed that he usually slept on – this was a late remark from the younger as they were spreading the sheet across the makeshift bed and it made Castiel feel a slight jump in his stomach. His heart fluttered, too, but he drowned the feeling to the movement of his arms as he bagged the pillow into its case.  
When it was done, they both ended up sitting on it. Dean leaned his back against his own bed and relaxed, and Castiel assumed a cross-legged pose and watched him close his eyes and breathe deeply and calmly for a while.  
After a moment, the younger opened an eye to examine Castiel with a grin over his lips.  
”Hey, Cas?”  
  
The fallen angel let out an acknowledging sound and tilted his head slightly.  
  
”You okay?”  
  
Castiel nodded with a hint of a smile.  
”I'm good,” he replied, although he felt dizzy and weak and almost as if aching inside.  
He was happy, that much he knew, and none of the weakness in him was a sign of illness; it was all because of Dean, and the discomfort was bittersweet to endure.  
  
”I don't think I'm hungry enough for a snack before bed,” the taller announced, relaxing again with his arms raised up on the bed, ”If you want something, you know where the kitchen is.”  
  
A ghost of a smile passed Castiel's lips as he shook his head, not that Dean was seeing it with his eyes closed and face raised towards the ceiling.  
”I'd rather just sleep,” he agreed.  
  
”Okay.”  
The other let out a heavy, satisfied sigh and then climbed up on his feet.  
”Think you'd appreciate a shower or a bath or something, though. I'll take one now, so you can just get in after that, yeah?”  
  
Castiel nodded. His limbs felt surprisingly heavy as he got up after Dean.  
While the younger was showering, he sat outside the bathroom flipping through an old adventure novel. Its presence in the bunker surprised him at first but then he realised it had been a home base for the Men of Letters and a home base didn't only serve informational needs. He was slowly learning how much he suddenly enjoyed reading stories, both fact-based and fictional, but the knowledge poked at a sore opening inside him that still hadn't healed and perhaps never would. The invisible tear at his being from where his grace had slipped from him ached as he closed the book and put it aside, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth.  
  
Another thing he enjoyed and which didn't serve him with a revisited trauma was bathing. He slid into a tub full of hot water and allowed his body to relax into the smooth pressure, leaned his head back and breathed in the gentle steam. In lazy, long, indulging movements he washed his hands and legs and thighs, chest and abdomen, neck and cheeks and toes and fingers in the water with mild, fresh-smelling scented soap and then his hair with the same shampoo Dean had used just to carry his smell on him wherever he'd go.  
Once the water started cooling down he rose up, rinsed off the soap from his body and then dried his skin and hair throughoutly with a warm, thick towel. It was comforting, the whole routine of it; something linear from points A to B to C and the finish line that he could see clearly ahead of him and take his time enjoying. Bathing left him with a sense of cleanliness but also with a feel of throughout relaxation and readiness to settle in to sleep.  
  
He returned to Dean's room following the younger's wet footprints on the floor, absently smiling at them as he went, wearing a towel around his hips and wondering if the other could spare some clothes for him to wear instead of the worn set he'd dragged through dirt and dust and worse; they were, after all, almost the same size. It could work out just fine.  
  
The door slid open with a small creak and Castiel slipped inside almost without a sound. Dean looked over his shoulder at him; his eyes looked down and then up again along the fallen angel's body as he closed the door and wandered a few steps further into the room. The younger wore an absent, crooked smile on him.  
  
”Took your damn time, Cas. I set out some clothes for you on the chair – figured you wouldn't want to wear that crap anymore. It's in the laundry but we need to buy you some actual fitting clothes soon. Meanwhile, that pile's yours, and since I don't know when we're heading out, the rest of my stuff's your stuff too until then.”  
  
Castiel smiled and nodded.  
”Thank you.”  
He stepped out of his towel and laid it on the back of the chair, somehow waking up to the moment the second he'd reached out to spread the cloth there. Suddenly his fine hair stood up, not at the contact with the cool air but from the knowledge that Dean was behind him and _saw_ him like that; he didn't dare to look if Dean was still looking, but even if he wasn't, he'd taken notice when Castiel first had entered the room, and now he was...  
With a shiver, the fallen angel pulled up a pair of boxers, then hesitated to wear them for just the second, knowing they'd been on Dean at one point or another. He felt quite exposed bending to pull them on, too, and the loose shirt he covered himself up next was akin to a blessing.  
  
He supposed he didn't need the rest of the clothes now as they were headed for bed anyway – a fact that was more of an inconvience, considering the already visible bulge against the fabric of his borrowed underwear. A heavy, defeated sigh fell through his lips as he settled on his mattress and pulled he blanket up over his hips before the situation would grow any more awkward than it already was. His cheeks were flushed and he was afraid to look at Dean, but when he did, the younger was again fully concentrated upon the small leather-covered notebook he'd been scribbling on before Castiel had come to the room. The only difference about him was that his cheekbones had a red tint to them as well, and he'd shifted one leg up on the bed to cover up his body, something Castiel was ashamed to notice for the sole reason it meant he'd looked.  
”Cas, hey...”  
  
”Yes?”  
The older raised his eyes up to Dean again, embarrasment wiped aside by the surprise of being adressed.  
  
Dean licked his lips and laid the notebook down on the bedside table, fingers seeking out the power switch of the lamp there next but not turning it off just yet, instead brushing the button as he prepared for what he was going to say. A smile appeared on him and he shrugged dismissively.  
”Just in case – you know, I've been through quite a few life-changing events myself so... if you can't sleep, or if you have nightmares or anything like that, just wake me up or whatever.”  
  
One thing Castiel hated about his humanity only because of the inconvenience it caused was that he simply could not control his instinctive responses to some things, such as words that hit a little too close to home. This time, his reaction to Dean's words was to blush out of surprise and the shame of weakness or whatever it was that he subconsciously had listed his sleeping problems under.  
After he'd nodded, the lights went out.  
  
”Okay so – good night, then. If you snore I swear I will kick you in the face, just a fair warning.”  
  
”I don't... snore.”  
  
”Good.”  
  
”Good night, Dean.”  
  
”Yeah, that. Night, Cas.”

  
*

  
  
The silence of the room after they'd quit talking was uncannily absolute. Of course, the bunker was located alongside a little used stretch of road in the middle of a rural area, so traffic wasn't exactly a common source of noise here to begin with, but the silence was further reinforced by the fact that they were underground. On top of the thick, solid walls that already muffled any outside noise there was a ton of soil around them and as such, it wasn't a stretch to describe the silence as that of the grave.  
Castiel hadn't realised how used he'd gotten to the never-ending buzzing of the cities he'd stayed in or the voices of drunken and high people rising loud and echoing from the walls of buildings, but he had, and now the opposite of all that commotion was forcing him to adjust again to the lack of it. Another thing he'd learned about being human was that he wasn't one of the people who did not have trouble adjusting to new situations. Quite the contrary, he hated change.  
It was possibly because he felt so out of control in his new environment and because the vulnerable skin he wore demanded protection that his true form had never required at all. Time itself also passed so differently for him now that staying on top of it was a task on its own, especially when woven together with survival on all the other fronts.  
He'd expected time to be slow for a mortal being, but it was quite the exact opposite for him: he felt as if his newly found needs filled his daily schedule from the very beginning to the last minute and continued in his sleep, giving him absolutely no break at all.  
  
Now his lips were tingling and his chest ached oddly. His fingertips felt cold but since he'd eaten and didn't feel in need of more nutrition, it couldn't be from low bloodsugar. Brows knitting together he reached to rub at his chest when a thought hit him, uninvited: he was vulnerable to human conditions now. Was his heart alright?  
  
He tried his pulse but couldn't make much sense of it. Sweat gathered upon his forehead and he shifted in discomfort. The tingling around his mouth got worse - was that a symptom?  
He swallowed and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, but the only thing he could concentrate on was the pulse that he now heard gaining speed as the blood it pumped echoed the beats inside his ears. No, he was definitely not okay.  
  
He sat up and tried to calm down, fingers still rubbing at his chest. Was this the kind of an emergency that called for him to wake Dean up?  
What could the man even do about him? He wasn't a doctor.  
  
Did he need a doctor?  
  
The pain was getting unbearable, and his heartbeat was so fast he feared it would in and of itself damage his heart. Shaking, he crawled to the bed next to his mattress and climbed on it, not knowing what to say or even how to say it, as his throat was pressed closed in a manner that made speaking impossible.  
Maybe Dean wasn't even awake yet, Castiel didn't know. He settled on his side and tried to breathe, but breathing was something he apparently had lost control over, and it came out uneven and panicked no matter how much he tried to adjust it to a normal pace.  
He pressed his sweaty forehead against the pillow there and realised his face was ice cold as were his fingers and toes and that every last one of his limbs was now tingling like his mouth was. He let out a small whimper and jumped to the feel of Dean touching his side.  
  
The younger brought an arm around him and pulled him close. It was that touch which broke the stiffness in the male's body and he managed to relax enough to adjust his body into a fetal position next to Dean's, the feel of the weight and warmth of the man's arm on him like a barrier that kept him safe from everything.  
Their faces were so close together that Dean's every mint-scented breath landed over Castiel's upper lip and he knew his short, uneven gasps and wavering exhales did the same for him.  
The younger's fingers caressed his back in slow movements, first from just the length they reached up to from where he'd laid his palm but soon bringing the whole hand into the motion so that his palm slid comfortingly down Castiel's back from his shoulderblade to the curve of his hip and back up again.  
  
It felt as if he was brushing the pain and the cold away with what he did and after a while Castiel realised he was starting to calm down, and not a word had been spoken since he'd invaded the other's bed. He readjusted to get blood flowing to his limbs again and as he did so, the tip of his nose brushed against Dean's. He froze on spot, not knowing how to take the moment back or make it seem like it didn't mean anything, but Dean was equally stunned for a passing second – his hand rested flat and still upon the middle of Castiel's back and he breathed short, small breaths instead of the calm long and deep breaths Castiel was used to hearing.  
Then, just when he was about to back off – probably off the bed entirely – the man brought his hand over to the back of his neck and pulled him just the slightest bit closer in the dark until their lips pressed together. The contact was soft and shy, and neither seemed to know what to do with it until Dean's lips parted and took the lightest hold of Castiel's lower lip, asking for him to join what hadn't yet really started. The fallen angel was afraid to breathe but his body had forgotten the state of shock it had assumed during the past minutes and his whole concentration was now upon the younger's feel on him. He kissed him back, the act nothing like the kiss he'd tried with another in the past; it wasn't something he'd seen done and was now trying to replicate, it was something born out of what was between them already, like a manifestation of a tension they'd pretended did not exist and which they'd momentarily dismissed entirely to concentrate on a more pressing issue.  
  
Little by little it gained confidence as they learned to move in a rythm with one another, and Castiel brought his still cold-fingered hand over on Dean's face in an instinctive desire to have him just that much closer. Dean, on the other hand, had shifted even closer with the rest of his body and pulled the blanket from between them to over them both instead so that underneath it, they were skin on skin. The paradox was that instead of an increase in Castiel's heartbeat, he was calming down from before and despite the rythm of his heart now settling to a faster pace, it was still slower than the one he'd survived through just moments before.  
The minute he realised he'd become completely relaxed again was when he found his leg from moving up onto Dean's thigh to allow contact between their hips as well – he'd never realised he was doing it, but when he did, it was much too late to stop anymore. Instead of calling it there Dean played into it, letting his hand down from Castiel's neck and onto the small of his back instead. He pulled him on, encouraging him to seek the contact, and pushed his hips towards his as well when they moved so that when their bodies met in the middle, the contact came with a pressure that made them both let out a strained breath before returning to the kiss again.  
  
Dean took the lead from there. He leaned over Castiel's body and pinned him on the bed, brought his mouth over the older's neck instead and his touches and kisses felt like solid fire against the male's skin. Castiel couldn't for the first minute or two do anything but hold onto him and experience, whining and moaning at the excess of pleasure he felt from everything Dean did to him. His fingers clumsily caressed and tugged at the younger's hair at the back of his head depending on whether or not the strands were long enough to hold onto.  
The rest of their bodies wouldn't stay still anymore either: any worry Castiel had still felt over Dean perhaps not desiring him in return had faded at the needy manner the man's hips grinded against his and the aggressive manner the younger now stripped him from the shirt he'd worn. He tensed up and let out an audible gasp when the other picked his nipple between his wet lips and circled it a few times with the tip of his tongue, sucking it gently before moving onto the other. They still hadn't said a word and Castiel felt like perhaps one of them should, but he had no words to spare, all the communication he could perform was limited to the manner in which now both of his hands returned affection to Dean. His hips wouldn't stay put on the bed when Dean got between his legs, instead pushing up and against him at all times, trying to get the most out of the contact they shared, and he couldn't think properly anymore, the only thought in him was that he loved being this close but that it still wasn't quite close enough.  
  
His fingers grabbed Dean's hair and he brought him back up to kiss him on the lips. They were both panting when their mouths finally separated again.  
  
”Cas?” Dean called breathlessly, nose brushing against his in the position they'd taken, ”Are you okay with this?”  
  
Castiel swallowed and nodded, realising that it wasn't enough and that he'd have to say it out loud, and that it wasn't just because Dean couldn't actually _see_ him nodding but because there was some invisible, unspoken set of rules to this like there were to taking vessels. He had to say ”yes” or it wasn't happening the way it was supposed to.  
”Yes,” he breathed out, shivering, ”I need this.”  
He swallowed thickly again and gasped for air, holding onto the younger tighter.  
”I need _you_.”  
  
Dean chuckled, kissing him briefly on the lips before saying anything.  
”Dude... out of all the ways I thought I'd get that line out of you, this wasn't a situation I considered... you know, _likely_. Not that I didn't want it this way... just...”  
Castiel kissed him in turn, his hips pushing up again as needy as ever and he felt ashamed at just how much his body was done with conversing.  
  
”I mean it,” he breathed out, ending the words with a sharp moan as Dean pressed against him in turn and grinded their hips together, pushing him back down on the bed again as he did so, ”in every way, Dean. Every way. Not just... this.”  
  
”I know. I know, Cas. I'm glad you said it. Really.”  
He let out a laugh and pressed their faces together.  
”I'm glad you need me this way, too. Hell, man, _I_ need you _so bad_ right now and it's so heavily sexual you wouldn't even...”  
  
Castiel nipped at his lip and as a revenge, Dean grabbed a firm hold of his wrists, pinned him down again and resumed grinding against him, kissing him breathless at the same time as if the motion and stimulation resulting from it wasn't enough to completely overwhelm him again.  
When the punishment was over and Dean had retreated to do away with the older's underwear, Castiel couldn't stop trembling. He didn't know if he hated losing control of his body like this now that he felt perfectly safe letting go or if he in fact preferred it, but the experience was still alien and very powerful, enough so that he felt useless in terms of what he could give to Dean in turn. He _wanted_ to give – he wanted to make the younger just as out of control as he was, but he didn't know how to do it.  
As if sensing that in him, Dean huffed and laid a hand over his stomach.  
”Are you okay?”  
  
It was impossible to be completely okay with his fingers under the last bit of clothing Castiel wore, but that probably wasn't what he'd meant.  
”I wish I could – that I could give you... that I knew how to please you, too.”  
  
The top let out a small laugh and stroked the sensitive skin down Castiel's abdomen with his fingertips, landing them back underneath the neck of his boxers. He slid them down along his skin, taking his time with them and Castiel knew it was to make him as aware of it as he could. And he was aware, too; it turned him on to the point of physical ache to feel himself exposed to Dean in this manner.  
”You'll have plenty of time to learn, Cas, but...”  
The younger leaned down to kiss him low on his belly, causing his muscles to twitch and his whole body to tense up, clearly just for his own amusement.  
”... you're pleasing me pretty damn well right now, so don't worry about it too much. Instead, you could get up for long enough to undress me, and while you're at it, think about what you want from me.”  
  
Castiel took a long, deep breath before sitting up. He felt naked as he kicked off the underwear from around his ankles and took a hold of Dean's shirt instead, removing it a little clumsily and much slower than he'd hoped. He didn't feel anywhere near like the expert he wished he was as he kissed the man's neck and his collarbones either, and infinitely more instead like the clumsy and stupid non-human that he in fact was, but Dean seemed to enjoy him that way, or at least the sounds he let out were throughoutly happy to have his lips just where they were, touching him just as they did.  
He brought his hand up to Castiel's back again and lead his other hand onto his hips and down the front, adjusting his palm around his hard erection. The feel and the warmth of the cock made the older shiver again. He'd never thought of actually wanting to touch a male's sex like this, and even stranger was how pleasing it felt for _him_ , how much he enjoyed knowing he was the sole reason for the hardness he felt when he pressed his palm against the shaft's form. With the help of the younger's body adjusting to his moves he pulled off the soft cloth from Dean as well, leaving them both just as naked and needy and oddly equal on multiple levels.  
  
He reached to touch him again, now without the cloth there to keep him from skin-to-skin contact. Dean let out a purring sound and bucked into his hand as he wrapped his fingers around his cock; his own sex twitched in reaction to the feel of the other's in his hand, and a flash of pleasure charged up his spine again, escaping him in a shaky gasp.  
It felt different from touching his own body, but mirroring the movements was the hardest part. Dean seemed to enjoy the same things he'd learned he enjoyed, just more relaxedly and visibly: he allowed Castiel to know just how good he felt not only in shivers and the way his hips rocked into his touch but also in words, telling him when something he did was especially good, like when Castiel pushed his thumb gently up along the underside of his cock towards the pit at the base of the tip.  
Getting praise for what he'd initially been so nervous about trying made the older feel at ease again. This wasn't half as scary as he'd feared, and didn't make him feel anywhere close as awkward, inexperienced and clumsy as he'd expected. His free hand escaped to guide Dean into a kiss and he felt the man smiling against his lips, and the feel of it made his insides leak with warmth.  
  
”Keep going, that feels really good. Damn, Cas...”  
A huff and a sigh later Dean's lips caught the fallen angel's into a more heated kiss, his hips bringing his length through the older's grip at a pace he chose for himself. It felt erotic for the older as well, and he couldn't help the need to touch himself to relieve the pressure and ache. Dean noticed him move and let out a muffled, almost pained sound, stopping with his hips pressed tight against the male's hand to just feel and listen him work on his own sex.  
  
”Needy, huh?”  
Castiel could hear the smirk in the other's voice and now it was his turn to huff. That huff turned into a small, conflicted whimper when Dean grabbed his wrist and wrestled his hand back down on the bed.  
”Hey, Cas, I just had this crazy idea.”  
  
Castiel didn't know what to say to that. His body was aching to be touched but on the other hand, he certainly didn't mind spending more time trapped in the pleasurable torture with Dean; it was a special moment to share with him and no matter how much he wanted to get that pressure out from inside him, he also wanted to linger in what they shared together there.  
He also realised he was more than inclined to follow up with any crazy idea Dean would present him with. He let go of the man's length a little unwillingly, bringing the hand up on the back of Dean's neck instead.  
  
”I'd rather not explain it, it's – uh – awkward, it sounds really bad in my head no matter how I try to put it so – so just tell me to stop if you don't like it, yeah?”  
Dean sounded both nervous and excited, and hearing that made Castiel smile; clearly he wasn't the only one a little off the map in the act.  
  
”Alright,” he chuckled softly, allowing Dean to push him back down on the bed.  
  
The younger bent over him to kiss him on the stomach and from there down on his thighs, his lips sometimes wandering all the way to the inner thigh and following up so close to his crotch that it felt painful for the older before he finally switched to the other side and recreated the pattern of kisses there. He continued to a point where Castiel felt like he wouldn't need any direct stimulation at all to reach an orgasm: his body tingled in a whole different manner to the way it had before he'd climbed on the bed and he couldn't hold his hips still despite there being nothing he could buck into from where he lay.  
He nearly choked on his breath when Dean finally cupped his sex and from there confidently wrapped his fingers around the shaft, tugging at it almost playfully and prompting an almost distressed moan from the older. Just after that he let go again and instead pulled Castiel's legs up, setting the right one a little further from the other and back on the bed but stretching the left one right up until its thigh pressed against the male's stomach. He held it there even when his other hand took a grip of Castiel's cock again. For one moment the fallen angel expected him to bring his lips over to the tip of his sex and nearly stopped him on tracks because that was the one thing he definitely would not be able to take without coming right away, but a flash of incertainty crossed his face in the dark when Dean did not in fact land his lips there.  
What he did was both surprising and nearly as impossible to handle as that would have been, as his lips finally reappeared a few inches below from where Castiel had initially expected – and feared – they would.  
The flesh below his sex was oddly sensitive and the feel of the man's tongue tracking that out was like feeling it somewhere inside his body just below his abdomen; it was a strange, gripping feeling that easened up a little once his body learned to expect the touch. That wasn't where Dean stopped, however. He brought the older's hips up to give him more room to work with, and as his tongue first flicked at the more than just sensitive ring of muscle still further down, his fingers that had so far just held their position around Castiel's erection started slowly stroking him through.  
  
The sensation was so overwhelming that Castiel couldn't even react to it: he stayed completely still, tense, eyes open to the blackness that the room was drowning in, and his fingers were pushing into the mattress and kept pressing down still so that the tips of them ached.  
  
With a timid chuckle, Dean pulled back and relieved his grip over the older's thigh as well as his throbbing sex. He stayed back for a moment to give the male a chance to catch his breath.  
”Cas?”  
  
Now Castiel simply couldn't spare a word for him. Instead, he acknowledged hearing his name with a muffled sound.  
  
”Are you majorly creeped out or otherwise so uncomfortable you never want to associate with me again?”  
  
Took a moment for Castiel to work the words apart and into a form of communication he could understand.  
”What?” was all he managed in response at first.  
”No. No, I – I'm...”  
  
”Good? Okay? Enjoying yourself?”  
Dean's tone was still playful but he was so clearly nervous it gave Castiel a new reminder of how obviously neither of them was certain about anything beyond the need to be right there – how neither really knew yet how the other wanted to be touched, or if they could do it right.  
He tried to relax and for the second time that night learned just how hard it was to do.  
  
”I'm good,” he finally managed to breathe out.  
  
”Okay, great,” Dean sighed relievedly, ”'cause it would have been really damn awkward if you weren't.”  
  
The older let out a breathless chuckle and nodded with a sound of agreement.  
  
”So... it's okay if I continue?”  
  
”Dean, I – I'll let you know if I'm not okay. Right now... I don't think I've ever been more okay with anything that has been done to me, so _please_ continue. Please.”  
The strain and desperation of his voice made the younger laugh.  
  
”Okay, got it,” he snorted and within a moment, Castiel's body tensed up at contact again.  
After the first moan broke through he couldn't rein any of them in again, gasps and exhales each as audible and only growing louder. He didn't know when Dean had stopped holding his thigh out of the way but when he noticed he was holding the leg far up himself, the sudden awareness of his position made him whimper in embarrasment and buck his hips again, this time right into the touch of the older's firm fist around his shaft. He didn't expect the touch that followed soon after; the feel of Dean's rough fingertip pressing against his flesh gently by the point his tongue had just stopped teasing, covered with a thick layer of slippery saliva that allowed it just that much further than it would have gone if both his flesh and the skin weren't covered up in the same. Yet another feeling he really did not know how to react to, so he tensed up, only to receive a quiet compliment from the younger.  
”You're doing great, relax. It'll feel good in a second.”  
  
Not that it felt bad at this point, either, but the sensation was _strange_ and Castiel had little idea how to deal with it. He did his best to calm down however and slowly, Dean pushed his finger through the grip of the muscles. The feeling of that made the older's back arch and his moan caught up in his throat, cutting off sharply.  
”Cas, you're – damn – I love listening to you. You sound like... I don't know - you're perfect.”  
  
The words prompted a shiver and a small, unintended laugh from Castiel. It didn't last long before it was pushed aside by another moan, this one louder and longer than any the male had let out so far. The feel of the other pulling his finger back and then thrusting it back in again, slowly and carefully like the first time around, was all he could take anymore; with a quiet cry, he allowed his back to arch up again as the wave of pleasure washed through inside him, filling his vision with bright lights and his skin with a prickling feeling that only echoed what he felt at the points where Dean was touching him.  
He panted and gasped, trying to regain control and consciousness where the intense relief had dealt away with both, and he felt Dean leaning over to kiss his neck and chest calmingly as if guiding him back as comfortingly as he could. His both hands were now by Castiel's sides, bending the mattress underneath them.  
  
The older reached a trembling, weak hand and sought out the taller's hard cock. Dean let out a low grunt and pushed his hips forwards to allow Castiel a better, firmer grip on him. He rocked into the other's touch and Castiel could feel him bending back in pleasure. His moans sounded towards the ceiling so that it was clear his head was bent, too; his fingertips sometimes brushed across Castiel's skin and sometimes sought out his shoulder or arm for balance.  
Castiel hadn't expected how excited the thought of bringing Dean up to his climax would be, but now that he worked with that single goal in mind, it was nothing short of the best thing he'd experienced so far. He climbed up into a sitting position and pulled Dean to sit on his lap so that they were as close as possible, and as the younger buried his head against his shoulder he continued pleasing him as well as he could at an increasing pace until a point where he feared the speed was painful for the younger but where Dean seemed to enjoy it the most. The sound of wet flesh was arousing to him even as his body felt like it needed nothing more than a good, long rest. Dean's nails dragged long, burning tracks along his back and his hips had long since lost the rythm with which they'd at first greeted the fist around his length. The sounds he made were short and often cut-off or broke into whimpers instead of moans and he trembled through and through.  
Castiel wasn't sure if the wetness he felt against his shoulder was sweat or tears but the way he felt the other reacting told him neither would be a sign of anything being wrong.  
  
When Dean finally tensed up and Castiel could feel his warm release splatter across his stomach, the sound he let out was barely a relieved, throughoutly pleased sigh.  
The younger brought his arms around the other and held him, relaxing as Castiel did the same for him and for a moment they stayed there like that, both catching their breath and occasionally shivering.  
  
”Thank you, Cas,” he whispered with a smile that Castiel could feel against his collarbone.  
”Let's worry about the mess tomorrow.”  
  


*

Ever since falling, Castiel had never slept a night so well and woken up so rested as he did the next morning. The first thing he saw was the knowing, gentle smile on Dean's lips.  
  
”I love you,” he breathed out, closing his eyes again.  
  
”I know.”  
A small, wavering breath communicated the barely held-back excitement in the younger.  
”I love you too.”


End file.
